Five Times
by Asher21790
Summary: Five times Cassian and Jyn touched. Scene extensions, because we all need more angst, right?


Five times Cassian touched Jyn.  
Or, two times Jyn touched Cassian, two times Cassian touched Jyn, and one time when it was sort of mutual.  
Scene extensions of a sort. There's a fair bit of dialogue straight from the movie (or rather, copied from the novel as I typed this).

I promise that I will eventually write something that's a little happier.

As always, reviews are most welcomed.

* * *

When he first brushes against her, she looks at him – no – _glares_ at him. It's an innocent bump, passing in the hall as he squeezes past her to slip away to his room, to shower off the past three weeks in the field.  
She doesn't move as his shoulder bumps her, not the way people normally do when accidental contact is made. Bumping against Jyn Erso is like bumping against a metal pole.  
An immovable object.  
She stands ramrod straight and appraises him with suspicious blue-green eyes.  
"Sorry," he mutters, shouldering past her, feeling the burn of her eyes into his back as his bunk door slides shut.

xxXXxx

He tails her closely in Jedha City, sticking to her like glue. He's not entirely convinced she won't just turn tail and bolt down one of the narrow alleyways, slipping away amongst the crowds; another dark, hooded figure in a city full of them.

She stops short, cautiously watching a trio of Stormtroopers march past them, and he walks into her back, his nose pressing against her hair as her scarf slips down off her head.  
She smells like Alliance issue soap and the burnt ozone of blaster bolts. He puts a hand on the small of her back to steady her as she looks up over her shoulder at him, pulling her scarf back up. The little puff of exhalation from her nose makes a swirl of vapour in the frigid air, clouding between them.

"Sorry," she mutters, turning back around jerkily, almost awkwardly.

He grins.

xxXXxx

The trip from Jedda to Eadu takes longer than the one from Yavin to Jedha. He leaves Bhodi and K-2 in the cockpit and slumps in the hold of the ship against the cargo nets. The guardians are sitting opposite him; Baze cradling his weapon in his lap, his head lolling to the side, bobbing with the movements of the ship.  
Even asleep, there is a slight frown on his face.  
Chirrut sits next to him, peaceful in sleep.  
At least, Cassian thinks he's asleep.  
His eyes are closed, hands clasped around his staff, but his body is alert. Aware. Arranged in neat lines, his back straight and robes drawn around him.  
Jyn is laying on her side next to him, curled in on herself. Her hands are between her knees, and she is using her bag for a pillow.  
Her eyes are coolly appraising him.  
"Try to get some sleep. It's a decent journey," tells her.  
She doesn't say anything, just looks at him with wide-open eyes, before closing them. He watches her for a moment longer, her eyes stay shut. He leans his head back against the cargo net, his jacket stuffed behind his neck, his body buzzing with exhaustion.  
Sleep comes quickly.

He wakes with a start some time later; _minutes? Hours?_ He has no idea. His shin is singing and he realises that in her sleep, Jyn has kicked out at him.  
He pulls himself up and looks over at her. She's spread out in sleep, unfurling and laying on her back, legs splayed.  
He studies her, leaning over her cautiously, placing a hand to his side to rest his weight on.  
She's frowning and her eyes move quickly under her eyelids as she battles some shadowy foe in her dreams. Her hands, resting over her belly, are clenched in fists. Her hair, messy and windswept and gritty from the sand and ashes of Jedda's destruction, lies in wisps around her face, pulled free of its bun. Her breath comes in puffs, as if she's grunting through exertion. He wonders what battle she's reliving, what fight she is imagining. Real? Remembered?  
She turns her head suddenly, and he falters, whipping his hand back and pulling away from her, freezing. She's still asleep though, eyes shut, the tossing and turning part of her dream.  
He lets out a slow breath, a sigh of relief, and hears a quiet chuckle from in front of him. He looks up to see Chirrut's sightless eyes fixed on him.

"Easy, Captain," he says softly, inclining his head in Cassain's direction.

Cassian purses his lips, and says nothing.

xxXXxx

"You lied to me," comes her voice, as clear and sharp as the kyber crystal around her neck.

He keeps disassembling his weapon, stowing it away in the armoury.

"You're in shock," he mutters, not looking up.

"You went up there to kill my father," she comes again, moving closer.

He can hear her breathing, ragged, as she tries to control it. He looks up and sees her, eyes wide and piercing, pulse thrumming at her throat under her fair skin.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he says, slowly and carefully.

Something in her snaps, and she lunges forward, hands against his chest, shoving him hard.

He stumbles back a step, but doesn't fall, doesn't trip over Baze's outstretched legs, or Chirrut's staff.

"Deny it," she spits, all venom and fire, and when her eyes flash at him, glittering and dangerous in the dim light of the ship, he sees a glimpse of the scrappy animal who survived by itself; living by wits and claws and sharp, dangerous looks.

"You're in shock and you're looking for somewhere to put it. I've seen it before," he says. It's meant to mollify her, but it comes out all wrong, too sharp around the edges.

"I bet you have," she sneers. "They know," she gestures behind him at their rag-tag crew, "you lied about why we came here and about why you went up alone-"

"- I had every chance to pull the trigger, but did I? _Did I_?" He speaks over her, anger flaring hot where her hands had shoved against him, burning like a brand, right through his shirt.

"You might as well have. My father was living proof and you put him at risk. Those were Alliance bombs that killed him!"

"I had orders! Orders that I disobeyed!" He feels blood pounding through his temples, his heart pounding in his chest, heating up his rain soaked skin.

She lets out a bark of laughter, sharp and rough, and it grates against his ears.

"Orders? When you know they're _wrong_? You might as well be a stormtrooper-"

The pounding of blood in his head turns into a roar.

"What would you know?" He snarls, shoving the weapon away, pulling himself up to his full height, demanding she look up at him as he stands close, crowding her space. What comes next rushes out against his common sense, his words sharp and precise and biting, tumbling out in a torrent of bitterness and hurt and anger; at her, at himself, at the whole godsdamned galaxy.

"We don't all have the luxury of deciding when and where we want to care about something. Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you? Some of us _live_ it. I've been in this fight since I was _six years old_. You're not the only one who lost everything," he shakes his head, laughs bitterly. "Some of us just decided to do something about it."

If she is shocked or put out in any way, she doesn't show it. Perhaps she has spent too long around him, picked up some of his tricks, because her face settles into a blank mask; her features relax, the fire disappears from her eyes, replaced by a steely coolness that unsettles him.

She shrugs.

"You can't talk your way around this."

His lip curls.

"I don't have to," he growls.

His chest burns.

When he looks at it some hours later, there's a new bruise blossoming on his sternum, and it's tender to touch.

xxXXxx

His chest is on fire, his ribs ache and he can feel them; soft, spongey. He thinks he can feel them moving, moving in a way that bone should not. But that could just be his mind playing tricks. The elevator wall is a welcome cool against his back at least.  
Jyn's eyes are glittering in the half light of the elevator. He's not sure whether from tears or if it's the light or if it's just a trick of his vision, blurring as he

 _fades._

She's so close, just inches from him, her face, inches from his face, full lips parted slightly as she looks up at him. If he wanted to brush his lips against hers he would only need to lean forward. But he doesn't.  
And neither does she.  
There's no time, and it's not fair to start something they could never hope to finish.  
The jolt of the elevator as it reaches the bottom floor sends a white shot of pain through him, and she wraps an arm around him, ducks under his arm and they stagger out of the elevator, the foyer, and onto the beach. It's eerily quiet, for a war-zone.  
There is the distant rumble of fighters, sirens which carry in ebbs and flow on the breeze, but they're far off sounds. Sounds that mean nothing, now, to him or Jyn. Sounds that won't do anything to change the inevitable.  
He has trouble walking on the sand, he can't seem to pick his boots up far enough to stop from tripping. Every step is torturous, but he tries not to lean too heavily on Jyn, she's hurting too. She carries on, supporting him, marching them in a wounded parade down to the shoreline.  
Eventually, she stops. This is the spot. It's as good as any, he supposes.  
They drop to their knees and she looks at him. She smiles and he thinks to himself that she looks beautiful.  
She's always looked beautiful, though.

"Your father would have been proud of you, Jyn," he says.

She reaches for him, takes his hand, fingers threading through his. He looks down at them, her hands are so small - he never realised how _small_ they are - he could wrap the two of them easily in his own, covering them completely. He twists her hand in his, squeezing it.

In the distance the emerald light begins to pulse.

He pulls himself up off his haunches because he doesn't want to be sitting down when he dies. He pulls her up too, and she comes.  
When he puts his arms around her, he feels a stab in his chest that has nothing to do with his injuries, but he pushes it down.  
He wants a clear head at the end.  
The weight and feel of her, her beating heart against his own, her breath against his neck, is what he has been simultaneously chasing and running from his whole life.  
She fits against him well, her lines against his, it's natural. Good.

He turns his head when it comes, presses his nose against her neck, closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of her.  
She smells like Alliance issue soap, and burnt ozone, and the fresh watery smell of the sea.


End file.
